


A Zombie Story

by ccteaspoon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, POV Second Person, Past Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccteaspoon/pseuds/ccteaspoon
Summary: A person wakes up in the midst of an apocalypse and finds themselves as one of the dead. They have to choose their next moves wisely because it appears that they are one of a kind - a zombie with no memory of what happened but with full control of their mind. Or so it seems.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an experimental work written fully in the POV of a second person. Between my more serious projects, I decided to have short breaks and write entirely different things. In this case, it means writing in my non-native language, with a completely new to me POV, and a genre I usually wouldn't touch. I also took the easy way out and decided that this story is going to get minimal editing, and it'll just be me pouring my thoughts as I write :)  
> Enjoy!

You wake up in a building. It‘s large but not overcrowded. It seems like a mall and a game center all in one. You stand up on the white tiles and look around. There‘s no one, not a sound. There are no windows, though light bulbs above spill yellow. Somehow, you know it‘s daytime. Out of nowhere, you get a sick feeling in your stomach. Something‘s wrong. You start walking in that never-ending maze of hallways, take a turn or two. 

Suddenly you see people. Only they‘re not. People, that is. They look like you, and you look like them, and you all look similar to humans. They‘re not bloody, the flesh not rotten, but they‘re moaning, and you understand. Zombies. Brain-eaters and flesh-biters. And you‘re one of them. You get scared. You‘re not breathing, but your chest gets heavy. A sound creeps out. Their eyes are cold as they stop moving and look at you, their mouths wide open. You know they know that you‘re conscious. Not starving for human flesh, not in agony. You are practically human but dead. You take a step back and then another, your legs start running. You don‘t know where but just far away from the others. They‘re not supposed to move this quickly. They do. You hide, and your mind‘s empty.

Is this the apocalypse? How long have you been dead? How did it happen? You don‘t know, you don‘t remember. You‘re not dirty, there‘s no blood, no scratches. Maybe the others just woke, too. Maybe you‘ve all been affected at the same time.

You whip your head as you hear a loud bang. It came from the direction you were running to. It‘s not the others. You‘re sure of that one thing. You hope it‘s not humans either. They wouldn‘t like you. You slip further into shadows when you hear heavy boots on tiles. A young woman dashes past you first and crouches in the corner. She‘s got a bulletproof vest on and is clutching a huge rifle. She‘s not injured but dirty and exhausted. Her hair‘s greasy. You check yours. Huh. It‘s dry and slippery, nothing unordinary. You get your attention back when you hear shouting and growling. There are about a dozen humans filling the hallway, fighting with the others. The humans easily overpower them, with their loud guns shooting them fast and killing quick. Bodies fall, brown-grey goo leaking from their wounds. Somehow, that doesn‘t disturb you as much as it should. Deep down your mind‘s been conditioned to only get scared when you see red. It‘s expected, it‘s human. Not anymore.

The humans don‘t see them coming, but you do. Another throng of the others bounces on them, this one‘s more prepared. The black-haired girl you first saw is hit in the chest and thrown back. Her rifle goes up in the air and lands on a three-meter high platform. Stairs leading to it are just a few steps away from you. You freeze, and you try to think.


	2. Chapter 2

There‘s chaos all around, no one can as much as spare a glance at your hiding spot. Your body moves before your mind catches up. You‘ve noticed it does that a lot. Maybe it‘s a side effect of being dead – slow thoughts and difficulty sorting through them. Your feet don‘t seem to have that problem, and you‘re up on the platform in a few seconds. You snatch the rifle and aim it at the crowd. A couple of humans are lying on the ground, their limbs torn and faces scratched. **Their** blood is red. Such a strange thing to take comfort in.

More humans come in, more end up dying. You know you have but a few moments before someone notices you. Who to shoot, though? Your own kind? They barely seem to have any sense left in them. Humans though, they‘d also kill you if they find out.

You let luck guide you. You aim once again, close your eyes and pull the trigger. The bullet tears through flesh, its sound ricocheting in your ears. An already dead body falls down, and someone else‘s shot finishes it. Heads turn upwards, and you don‘t have time to drop the rifle and scamper out of there. A woman yells at you. Something about ‘keeping on it!‘, so you do.

It‘s not five minutes later when the fight ends. All zombies lie dead, though they‘ve done a number on the humans, too. The survivors line the fallen and blow their brains out, for good measure. You turn the rifle on yourself and wonder if you shouldn‘t follow their example. That‘s when you notice it. Three brown scratches on your left bicep. They‘re no bigger than a cat‘s but very deadly it seems. You hurriedly place the rifle on the platform and tug your t-shirt‘s sleeve down. It exposes your shoulder but saves you from execution.

And just in time, as the black-haired woman is climbing up to you. Her face‘s bloody, but she looks happy. She‘s thanking you and introducing herself as Allie, and you can only nod. It‘s reassuring that you can understand the words, but you have no idea if **you** can speak. If it‘s only the groans and guttural sounds you can make, you‘d rather not find out in front of everyone. Allie doesn‘t seem to mind, she just picks up her weapon and turns to go. Guess she‘s seen enough people rendered speechless by trauma. Allie glances at you expectantly, and you realize she‘s asked you to follow her. You think. Your brain just skipped past that part.

You don‘t hesitate. Partly because your body‘s been detached from your mind, partly because you don‘t know what else to do. You want answers, and humans can give them. You just hope they don‘t confirm the apocalypse.


	3. Chapter 3

The humans split into three groups. Allie takes you with her and four other people to guard the entrance. She introduces them to you, but you quickly forget all the names, except Ned. Plain, familiar Ned. You wonder if you knew someone with that name before. You turn from the humans and face the glass doors of the entrance. Miraculously, they‘re intact.

It‘s sunny outside, probably midday. The parking lot is deserted, with no cars or wild animals picking at trash. You wonder if zombies eat those, too. Not long after, the remaining people return, each carrying a pair of stuffed bags. Right, it is a mall, they probably came here for food. That tells you more about the situation in the outside world than words ever could. You open the glass doors and exit the building.

A gentle wind blows outside, bringing the fresh air to wash away the tang of blood. You want to look up, but already the sun stings your eyes. The people around don‘t seem to be bothered by it, so you figure it‘s a perk of your own. Great, exactly what you needed. The humans are more alert out in the open, rifles poised, knives drawn. You‘d like a knife. For now, your fists will do.

You follow Allie and the others through empty streets. There are a couple cars here, but they‘re trashed and long looted. You don‘t see any bodies or zombies for that matter, but there are some unmistakable stains. Lots of them. On broken windows, battered walls and plain on the concrete. It seems to be the outskirts of a town as you soon see a forest treeline peeking through the rooftops. You reckon if you grew up here. None of this is familiar, but when you reach a forest path, you feel more relaxed. The humans‘ camp is half a mile in, where enough trees grow to hold back unwelcome intruders and still leave some space for tents. There are ten of them, large and caked in mud. You step over half a meter of barbed wire, brushing past one. It‘s been patched and repatched, the zombie goo clearly stuck to the worn fabric. It gives you some understanding of time – it‘s been at least a few weeks, maybe a month. Since what, you don‘t know.

The party deposit their bags in the smallest tent, each person only keeping a small package. Allie hands you a cardboard box of granola bars and some water.

“Come,” she says, “let’s get you something warm to put on. You must be freezing.“

You lift your head, this time only needing to squint as the tree foliage blocks the worst of the sun. You thought it was Spring, if not early Summer. You don‘t feel the cold, and there are no goosebumps on your arms. At least that‘s something you can be glad of. You go with Allie to a big blue tent and wait outside while she rummages through her belongings. She comes out carrying a red hoodie, and you eagerly put it on. She smiles, probably thinking that you‘re hurrying to escape the chill, but you are more worried about the marks. You can‘t let anyone see them.

The humans around you are talking with each other, only a few openly staring at you. Most of them have seen you with the rifle, and don‘t seem to particularly mind you tagging along. Good, you came here for information. You open the granola box and take two, handing one to Allie and keeping the other to yourself.

The first bite is tasteless.


	4. Chapter 4

A campfire is lit in the evening. By then, you‘ve chewed up and spat out three granola bars and drunk some water. The liquid stayed in your stomach, but who knows how long that will last. You place yourself between Allie and a young girl on a mossy rock. The group has gathered to discuss what to do next. You don‘t pay much attention until somebody mentions the need to relocate, and soon. You‘re not the only one who doesn‘t like the idea.

“Why? We are good here,” says the man in front of you.

“The mall was the last place that had any food left. We took all of it today. Who do you think those zombies inside were? The entrance was barricaded. It makes sense that another group of people was living there. Possibly since everything started months ago,” Probably Ned shoots back. You realize that he said something important, but your mind struggles to connect the dots.

Allie turns to you. “That was your group, wasn’t it, Em?” She looks intently at you. Oh, so that’s it. You had been sheltering with other people at the mall for weeks, months. From zombies. Of which you are one now. On the other hand, maybe you **were** the dead intruder, who infected everyone else. You woke up strangely alone, far from the others. You quit thinking and reply to Allie.

“Yes.” It comes out husky and low, but intelligible. A few hours ago, under the pretext of relieving yourself, you got away from the humans to check your voice. It’s fine, but it takes a long time for you to express your thoughts. It’s as if something’s blocking the muscle from forming words, and your brain ceases to cooperate. Em was the shortest name you could think of. You don’t know the real one.

“Have any idea what happened?” Probably Ned asks. No, but you would like to have an explanation, too, if he ever finds one.

“No. I,” you cough to stall for time to get your thoughts sorted, “I got, got knocked out. I don’t... remember,” if anyone gazes at you strangely, well, that’s not your problem now, is it? They took in a zombie they deal with said zombie.

You don’t participate in further conversation and remove yourself from the campfire. No one stops you. The day after tomorrow will be the last one here. A middle-aged woman said that food and medicine provisions were diminishing, and they’re not equipped enough to make their own. The town’s small, every useful thing in there has long gone. The mall was the last spot where they hoped to find what they needed. They found zombies instead.

You don’t know if you should be feeling sad right now. This town is the last connection you have with your past. Once you move, you’ll never find out who you are. Or were. But do you really need that? The memories are gone, and it doesn’t look like they’re hurrying to come back.

Still, wasted opportunities are wasted opportunities. You go exploring tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

You lie on a thick blanket for hours, waiting for Allie and another woman to be sound asleep before you make your move. You tried doing it too, but dead things have trouble closing eyes. You listen for the night-watch footsteps and get up when they are as far away as possible. You creep around the tent and hide in the darkness, waiting for the irksome flashlight to turn the other way. You like seeing better in the dark. Every insect on the earth, every thorn on a branch is visible. You easily leap over the barbed wire and head towards the town.

The forest is mostly silent, but far from empty. You see wild animals lurking behind tree trunks and large birds perched on pines. They‘re predators mainly. They don‘t move to follow or attack you. Death doesn‘t smell particularly appetizing. You emerge from the forest and look around. Not a single light in town and the wind is eerily still. You‘re the only being in sight.

You walk in the middle of a road, debating where you should go first. You can go anywhere, you‘re not afraid of meeting other zombies. You took a knife with you and still have your common sense. And you‘re not above using either of them.

On your right, you notice a bookstore with open doors. The showcase is broken, with very human-like blood coating the sharp ends of the glass. There‘s only one book left. You step closer. It‘s a dirty copy of _Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind_. Oh, the irony.

You walk inside and look around. The shelves are upturned, and scattered books cover the floor. You walk deeper and gaze into the seating area. All of the wooden furniture is broken, the only thing left untouched, is the leather couch. That comes as no surprise – two dead bodies lay limp on it.

One of them is partly slumped on the floor, with its back turned to you and head rested on the cushions. That one‘s definitely a zombie. It‘s everything you imagined them to be – the visible side of the face is missing a large chunk. You can see its rotten tongue under the fallen yellowed teeth. The clothes are torn and caked with blood. The zombie‘s bony hand is clutching its victim‘s. The dead girl looks about ten or eleven and is wearing what once used to be a pretty blue dress. Now it‘s covered in bodily fluids from decomposition. You glance up and see larvae crawl on her skeletal neck. The girl has a bullet hole between her eyes.

You leave the bookstore and walk down a smaller lane. It looks like the part of the town where well-off people used to live. You choose a two-store quaint-looking blue house and kick the door in. The entrance is spotless, with everything strangely in place. Shoes neatly line one side of the wall, and lots of family pictures hang above a white dresser. A family of three lived here once. You enter the kitchen and almost slip on the dirty floor. There are two large bodies stretched in a pool of muck. Most of it is blood.

You clench the door handle you grabbed for support when you lost balance. The bodies have no heads. They‘re mangled and squashed. Somehow, you doubt there‘s any trace of brain in all that mush. You hear a shuffle behind you. A family of three. No forced entrance. 


	6. Chapter 6

You turn and try to shut the kitchen door while getting a good grip on the knife handle. You almost manage it, but a violent force hits the bleached wood, knocking the knife out of your hand. You scramble to pick it up. The door blasts open, slamming into your shoulder. You fall to one side, sticking your arm out. You barely register the sickening sound of your forearm cracking before you‘re pinned down by another body.

The zombie is growling and grasping your neck with cold hands. Its nails dig into the soft skin, and you feel something trickling down. You bend your knees and elbows, bringing them together and roll to the right. The zombie loses its support and hits the dirty floor, face up. It never lets go of you, and you sense the fingers slide down your neck and dig deeper.

You hold the skinny wrists with one hand and bring your other elbow up. You hit the zombie‘s face once. Twice. Rip the fingers from your flesh. Take the creature‘s head in your clasp and smash it on the tiles.

It‘s snarling and kicking, but you hold your ground and keep repeating the moves. Raise the skull. Slam it down. Raise it. Slam it. Raise. Slam. Raise. **S** **l** **a** **m!**

The body underneath goes limp. You frantically search for the fallen knife. It‘s just a step away from you. A slight rumble rises in your chest when you sink the blade between dead eyes.

You slowly stand up, face impassive. You don‘t spare a look back when you shift to walk out. Outside, the wind has risen once again. It beats at your skin, but you remain frozen on the porch steps. Your sensitive ears pick out the smallest sounds from far away. Your eyes dart in every direction, registering the slightest of movements. You‘re still uneasy. You want more action. There. At the end of the street. A step, a shadow.

Your leg muscles tense, and you spring into a run. You‘re there in a few seconds. The other zombie spots you and readies to hit you. Too slow. Much too slow. You‘re already crashing into it, stabbing it. It‘s dead once more, faster than you can blink.

Good. **Now** you feel calm. You exhale a breath and lean on a brick wall. What to do? You stare at a barren bush. It‘s a bush. What to do? You‘re in town. Why? What to do? You glance down. Ah. Your forearm‘s a bit deformed. You broke it. No matter, no one will notice. Who?

The humans. You ventured to town while most of them slept. To look for answers. Well, you don‘t need them anymore. What were you thinking? You need a scarf for your neck. A thick, sturdy one.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun is relentless. You felt weak in the morning, and by midday, it got even worse. It‘s your third day out of camp, and everyone‘s spirits are down, but yours especially. The bags you‘re carrying weigh nothing to you, but the feeling of exhaustion is overwhelming.

Your sight is blurry, and you have to drag your feet to move. People around you have divided into small groups and keep on breaking the silence with their chatter. What do they even talk about? You try listening in on Allie and an older woman‘s conversation, but only an indecipherable hum reaches your ears.

You give up and reposition the bag on your shoulder. You feel and hear the broken bones move. They don‘t hurt, but you still made something like a splint to keep them in place and hidden under a baggy hoodie.

The slashes on your neck aren‘t healing either, but you didn‘t expect them to. Your body‘s dead. Kind of. It would be alarming if it regenerated.

Right now, your biggest problem is the sun. It sucks everything out of you. Just yesterday, Allie asked if you were eating enough. That‘s a fair question, you lost half your weight in a week. You blame the sunlight, so you don‘t have to think why it‘s actually happening.

The second you reach the shade of a denser forest canopy, you stop there for a short rest. The sounds of nature are relaxing and in tune with you. The air is crisp and smells vaguely of snowdrops budding at your feet. You swallow a few times and get ready to march on when a hand lands on your shoulder.

You react completely out of instinct. Grabbing the intruder, you twist their arm behind their back and slam them roughly into a tree trunk. When you blink and come to your senses, you see that everyone‘s stopped walking and is looking at you in concern. The sun glares brighter.

You release Allie immediately.

“...Sorry,“ you mull over the words that would make a good explanation. This shouldn‘t be that hard, “You startled me.“

“I‘m the one who should be apologizing. I should know better by now,“ Allie‘s laugh is a bit strained, but she waits for you to rejoin the group together. Some humans keep their eyes on you for a heartbeat longer before looking away with the rest. You‘re lucky they understand.

The scent of snowdrops reaches you once more, and you gag like it‘s a reflex. They smelled good just a minute ago. What happened? Allie steps closer to you, and her shoulder brushes yours. That‘s when you notice it. **She** smells good, enticing. It only takes a moment, and everything fits into place. You lose the ability to differentiate between the fresh air and the scent of humans.

You think back to the past week. It finally hits you. You never spot the stench of rot, death, and blood, which you should, and only the "clean" air. The one out of place is disturbingly the latter.


	8. Chapter 8

You reach a suitable place for long-time rest before the week is up. A group was sent ahead to scout and found a good clearing on a hill with a rocky path to a stream on one side and a wall of trees on another. Immediately you are instructed to collect dry wood for tonight‘s campfire while the others busy with tents.

You weave silently between enormous trunks and mossy boulders, all the while listening for anything out of place. After the one incident with Allie, nothing similar had happened. No other human smelt delicious, and the sun was keeping hidden behind the clouds, so there was nothing to agitate you, but you were still wary. Sometimes your fingers would twitch, or your head would turn involuntarily to the biggest group of people. You weren‘t thinking about eating them, though. You weren‘t.

After a good twenty minutes, you are holding an armful of suitably sized branches. You turn around to walk back when a loud gurgling catches your attention. You must be near the stream. Ned (probably) said the water was drinkable but very cold. You don‘t mind. You can‘t feel the cold, and the clear liquid is about the only thing your body agrees with. Besides the obvious. You look around for a path down to it and choose a narrow one that looks partially safe. It‘s surrounded by walls of rock on either side. You press the branch bundle closer to your chest and use your good arm for balance. The rock is rough and soiled but provides a good grip. You don‘t want to sprain your neck and die.

When you come down the slope, you see that the bank isn‘t empty. To your misfortune, an older woman is filling water bottles. She straightens from a crouch and smiles at you.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it? I hope everything works out and we can stay here, “ she looks at you expectantly just as the wind picks up and ruffles her curls. An enticing smell hits your nose. Your nostrils flare.

You hum noncommittally and take a step back, your eyes trained on the rumbling water. You have to get out of this place. From the humans entirely. Maybe fake your death, considering that you already are a walking corpse without a pulse. It would be so easy.

“Wait,” the woman raises her hand, “help me with those. We can fill them faster together.”

You glance at her and reluctantly put down your load. You pick up a water bottle before she hands one to you and dunk it underwater. Faster, faster. Fill faster. With shaking hands you twist the cap, throw the bottle and pick up a second. Faster, faster.

You hear rustling and snap your neck in that direction so fast it might’ve given you a whiplash. The woman is closer, collecting the bottles and stuffing them in a bag. She reaches for the last one you’re holding.

A growl slips through your clenched teeth. You can see the woman frown, confused, and retreat. For a normal human that would’ve been enough. But not for you.

It all happens so fast. You shove the woman with the strength of a predator. She drops her bag, the water bottles rolling and clinking together. She flails her arms for balance. Walks a few steps back and puts down her foot into the stream. Wrong move. You see her eyes widen when she realizes her mistake. Rocks underwater are smooth and slippery. You watch her fall and hear a husky croak escape her throat just before she hits the water. The woman’s skull smashes on a protruding rock, and she goes limp.

You keep kneeling in utter silence, watching a single drop of blood trickle down. It hits the clear surface and colours it red. Just for a moment. Only then do you stand up, gather the branches and climb back up.


	9. Chapter 9

They buried May‘s body that same evening. You helped others dig a hole and stared as she was gently lowered and laid on the damp earth. Then you shoveled the dirt back and watched Allie stamp to even the ground. Afterwards, she took you back down to the stream to wash your soiled hands. It was a little closer to the camp than the place May had her ‘accident‘.

“It’s so,“ Allie starts lightly as you are scrubbing your fingers, “damn,“ a little louder, “ **POINTLESS!”**

You look at her startled by the aggressive cry. Her chest is rising and falling, and she’s clenching her fists. You cautiously grip Allie’s shoulder. She leans in to you, her body remarkably soft against yours.

“What I’m trying to say,” the sounds of her swallowing are distracting you, “is that we’re already in constant danger, you know? Would be nice to survive getting your brains eaten and **not** die in some-” Allie is sobbing now. She sniffles a few times and catches your eyes. It‘s dark, but you can see some leftover brown in her irises, “Some fucking accident.”

She stands up then and stretches her arm to help you up. You take it. Your hands are wet, but Allie doesn’t seem to mind because she doesn’t let go until you reach the warmth of the campfire.

The next morning is hellish. The sun returned with new vigor, seemingly bent on making you miserable. You keep the hood on as you help Allie and a couple of others work the soil. No one’s talking, the silence grim and uneasy after yesterday’s events. You dig in the spade and turn the earth, dig in and turn. Dig and turn. The monotonous movements seem to help forget the sunlight. You only stop when someone grabs your wrist. A man is telling you that work is finished and it’s time for lunch.

You surreptitiously leave your share of granola bars and canned tomatoes back at the camp and remove yourself from the humans. It will do you no good sitting around food you can’t eat. Alive or otherwise.

You don’t wander far - others can still see you if they try hard enough. While you were preparing the earth for planting, the rest of the group was also working on making the place livable. The barbed wire fence didn’t get taller, but it got reinforced with boulders and logs. The space it protects now is also bigger. Your pace slows down when you spot something swaying on the edge of the outskirts. Curious, you climb over the fence to take a better look.

It’s an ensnared rabbit. Its light grey fur is covered in dew drops, which roll down and dribble as it struggles to get out. You watch on, captivated by its jerky movements. The rabbit is small, its heart beating and pumping blood twice as fast as you did once. How easy it was for the humans to catch it. A live, breathing being.

Humans don’t dwell on whether hunting is right or wrong. They do what they **need** to survive. They have no other **choice**. Yet, when death catches up, they’re quick to claim injustice. How can these people cry when one of them is murdered, only to turn around and spill the blood of a lesser life? Hypocrites.

You close your eyes for a moment and try to still the noise surrounding you. A starling is chirping in a tree nearby, someone back at the camp is collecting empty cans, a branch just popped from the cold. Your eyelids are still lowered, your body’s tense. You reach with your hands and quickly twist a slim warm neck. There. The animal’s dead. You barely have a second to admire your work when you feel a presence behind you. It’s got to be Allie. It’s always Allie.

She comes to stand shoulder to shoulder. You imagine her body warmth seeping into your clothes, coursing through your skin. Warming up your blood and raising your heart from stupor. The feeling of wanting to be alive is overwhelming. It leaves you lightheaded and breathless, though you should be neither.

Allie’s jacket crinkles as she squats to untie the lifeless animal. Her fingers make a fast work of the knot, and soon she’s holding the rabbit by the ears. She turns around and nearly bumps into you. You hadn’t realized you got so close.

You can feel her shallow breaths hit your face in small puffs. She smells like the soil she had upturned and the tomatoes she had eaten. Her heartbeat is steady. Too tranquil, like it has all the time in the world. Your eyes narrow unconsciously, bitter taste filling your mouth. It’s the first real emotion you have felt in the past week.

Resentment appears to push some forgotten liveliness into you. Your appetite soars, gnawing at the famished insides. Your neck and arm are throbbing, and it aches so much, makes you nauseous. Tears spill from your oversensitive eyes, the daylight making you dizzy. And in the midst of all of this is the quiet **_thump thump thump_** of Allie’s heart calling you.

You don’t restrain yourself. Why should you? You are hurting, and you know how to make it end. Rabbits stop it by eating grass, humans stop it by consuming rabbits, and you can stop it by devouring them.

Some dead need brains to feel alive, others crave flesh, plump and luscious. You hunger after the heart. Gory and solid in your palms, blood dripping on the prostrate body with an open chest. Your teeth sink into the muscle. While you’re chewing, you can feel the cold stillness of the air, enjoy the midday sun on your face, take the much-needed breaths to fill the lungs. It all goes away as soon as you swallow the last bite.

Good thing, you know where to find more.


End file.
